


oliver glyn lives in pining hell for two straight days

by malevon



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 22:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15471384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevon/pseuds/malevon
Summary: who even kissed who? it doesn't matter because either way oliver will find a way to overthink things





	oliver glyn lives in pining hell for two straight days

**Author's Note:**

> im so bad at writing fluff so if this seems cut short thats why lmao but there are parts of it im happy with! sadie belongs to @vampiricarus on tumblr!

It’s Saturday night, and this is how Oliver thinks he’s going to die: his face on fire, sitting in complete and utter silence next to Sadie Marks, because less than about ten minutes ago his mouth had been on hers (had she kissed him? Or had he kissed her?) and, even though that was all he has wanted for the last eight months, all Oliver wants to do now is curl into a ball and disappear.

But he can’t do that, because he is driving.

He thinks, hopes, that maybe, if he was brave enough to look over to her, he’d see that she’s just as embarrassed as he is. He’s perceptive enough to think that maybe that’s what the silence is borne from, but damn it, he doesn’t _know!_ He can’t glean something from nothing, and that’s all she’s giving him to work with right now. She’s usually so expressive, making all of her feelings known, and every second that the silence ticks on is another weight on Oliver’s mind.

It had been such a quick thing.The two of them, in a series of events that only went well in B-list action movies, had stopped a hellhound from entering a neighborhood--Sadie had guided it with her bat (much too close to the thing for Oliver’s comfort) to a spot where he had a clear shot through its chest with his poorly-fashioned spear, and it had been such a _close_ affair. Everything had just worked out so _perfectly_ and everything felt so _right_ , and the two of them had looked at the carcass of this actual, real life _demon_ and they had genuinely _laughed_ and then--

 _“Oliver!”_ Sadie snips, and it’s so sudden that he jerks the wheel, realizing he had been drifting almost completely into the other lane. There would be no other cars on the road at this hour, but the last thing Oliver needed right now was to be pulled over by a cop, who would only see two teenagers out at two in the morning, covered in dirt and blood that was partly their own and partly other.

This exclamation is the only interaction they share, and when Oliver drops Sadie back off at her house, he can’t even work up the nerve to tell her good night, or bye, or anything that they normally tell each other. Sadie sighs and gets out of the car, Oliver’s heart weighs him down, and the only routine he sticks to tonight is making sure that she gets into her house safely, because once you see the types of things that are lurking in the darkness, you can never be quite sure how far someone can walk without bumping into one.

He thinks maybe she looked back at him once before she shut the door, but he could be wrong. He’s tired, his glasses are fogged, and he needs to shower.

\--- 

Oliver has never been the brooding type. He’s more of the “freak out internally while working to find a solution” type.

For the next 48 hours, that is what Oliver does. His nails, in the process, are reduced to almost nothing, victims of his own insecurities. School on Monday has been turned into his own living hell--despite the things he’s seen, the things he’s killed--because he sits next to Sadie in every class except the ones they don’t share, and the silence that had afflicted him so much in the twenty minute car ride back home on Saturday night is only made exponentially worse when it’s stretched out for eight hours.

The thought goes through his head, rational and loud--Oliver, just text her, you dolt, nothing is going to get better if you just keep brooding like this! _I’m not brooding_ , he says back to himself, and he seriously considers texting her, but then the counterargument starts, louder than the first: whatever you have to say, you can say it to her face, Oliver! _No, I can’t_ , he argues back because he doesn’t even know what he would say. “Sorry I kissed you”? No, because that sounds stupid and there are two truths that make that statement wrong: one, he’s not sorry--except he is, he feels so stupid--but he’s been meaning to kiss her for the longest time anyway, so--and two, he’s not even sure if he did kiss her. He tries to remember how it played out, so he can put at least some of his worries to bed, but it was dark, and every time he tries to remember it, he can’t do it with a clear head, only one that is full of carefree and joyful and proud emotions that clog up his voice of reason.

 _Lord._ He is exhausted.

Oliver palms his phone on that Monday afternoon, flipping it over and over in his hand, staring at his blank notification screen. He’s got to do something. The only solace he finds in this situation is his thought that if Sadie really wanted to cut him off after what happened, she would have been a lot colder to him today, which is saying something, considering the fact that she didn’t acknowledge him at all.

_We could forget about it_

He sends the text, and makes sure it goes through--if she truly had wanted to cut him off, his number would have been blocked by now, so it’s a small relief when the message is delivered--and he stares at the second text he has typed: _If you want_. This implies, in Oliver’s mind, that _he_ doesn’t want to forget it, and he doesn’t want Sadie thinking that. Even though it’s true. He deletes the message. It’s true, he doesn’t want to forget about it, and he hates himself for that, he feels just a tiny bit selfish for it, and--

_are you home_

Oliver stares. He didn’t expect a reply at all, much less one this quick. He types out a quick _Yes_ before allowing himself to worry about why she might be asking that, or why she didn’t respond to the first text he sent.

These worries plague him just as all of his others have for the past two days until there’s a knock at his window that makes him flinch back from it so violently he almost falls off of his bed. Reason kicks in, and he knows that the only person who has ever insisted on entering his house from his bedroom window is Sadie, and he lifts the latches and pulls it open, stepping aside so she can maneuver her way in.

She immediately makes herself comfortable on his bed, flopping down on her back and staring at the ceiling, while Oliver stands there with on hand still on the window, staring, trying to comprehend the things that are happening in this moment and how he feels about them.

Sadie notices this, and cracks a shit-eating grin, one that makes Oliver’s heart pang because it’s so incredibly _Sadie_. “Close your mouth now, Oli, the flies’ll get in there.” He closes his mouth.

“So,” she starts, huffing a sigh, considering her words carefully. “Let me put this on the table.” She sits up then, folding her hands in her lap, and Oliver watches her face turn red. “I don’t want to forget about what happened.”

It’s hard to hide the sigh of relief that escapes from his mouth when she says that. Sadie notices it, inevitably, and her eyes dart over to him.

“I don’t either,” he says with such a conviction that it surprises even himself. None of the thoughts he’s had in the last two days have had any conviction behind them except that one. He makes eye contact with her, and even though it’s only been such a short period of time, it feels like an eternity since he’s been able to talk to her. He missed her, and the thought makes him smile, a gesture which Sadie mirrors.

“So what do we do about it?” she asks in earnest, laying back down on the bed. Oliver takes a place beside her, sitting and fidgeting his hands.

“I guess,” he tries, the words jumbled in his mind and his face heating up more than it was before. He still can’t look at her. “we just keep doing what we were doing. Nothing has to change.”

She sits back up again, and Oliver can’t help but feel a little embarrassed to realize that their legs are touching now, and then Sadie leans her entire right side of her body against his left, and Oliver freezes at first, but then instinctively, he rests his cheek on her head, just because it feels natural now. Like that’s where it should be. He smiles. “Do you want things to change?” she asks, craning her head to look up at him, and he considers the question. Twenty minutes ago, he didn’t want anything to change--he wanted things to go back to normal, when he didn’t have to worry about if Sadie would ever speak to him again. He huffs a small laugh.

“Maybe just a little bit, then,” he admits, kissing the top of her head as if he’d been doing it forever. It’s Sadie’s turn to laugh, then, and she retreats away from him in mock exasperation.

“You’re such a damn _sap_ , Oli.”

He laughs along with her for a moment, a pure moment when his heart feels full, not full of worry like it had for the past two days, before he starts to move to force her back out of the window. “Okay--okay, you have to go home, I have to do homework!”

Sadie laughs differently then, as if she’s just pulled a joke on him. “I brought my homework too. It’s in my car, hold on!”

And Oliver keeps laughing as he watches her bound out of the still-open window, and he wonders exactly why he didn’t kiss her sooner, and as Sadie bounds out of the still-open window, she wonders the same thing.


End file.
